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“Your favorite, honey,” Xia tells me, and she’s right. She’s always right. “There’s frosted oatmeal cookies in the pantry when you finish dinner. Just for you.”

Figures she knows what my favorite cookies are. It’s stupid, because I’m a twenty-two-year-old man, but my voice cracks when I tell her thank you, and my traitorous eyes fill with tears. It’s bad enough Tommy’s seen me cry. I don’t want Xia getting an eyeful and thinking I’m even more messed up than what all Matt has told her.

Tommy moves his hand from my leg to my head, raking his fingers across my scalp. It’s enough of a distraction to keep the tears from falling, and right now, that’s more important to me than keeping my relationship with Tommy hush hush.

When Xia is through doting on us with glasses of water, cans of soda, and extra napkins, I shovel food in like I haven’t eaten in days. I guess I haven’t.

Is it really Monday?

“You missed class,” I tell Tommy, feeling an odd sense like we’ve already had this conversation.

“You’re more important,” he says.

“Nothing is more important than your grades.”

“Alright, Dad.” He sends me a small wink before scooping potatoes into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of Coke. “Eat your food,” he says when he catches me staring.

“Tommy? Will you stay tonight?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Both relieved and terrified, I focus back on my food to try to fill my stomach before I become too queasy to take a bite. Tommy thinks telling him I’m gay is a big deal, and maybe it is, but it’s a drop in the bucket compared to what else I’ve been hiding away to fester. What’s really amazing is that Tommy is here at all, without even knowing a thing.

Perfect Tommy Mathison… He even changes my sheets for me after dinner and helps me get all my crap back under the bed where it belongs. I can’t believe I was under there when Tommy showed up. It’s mortifying. I don’t remember crawling under there, but I have a good idea why I did it.

He cracks the window, letting crisp autumn air into my musty space, then he sits himself cross-legged on my bed and asks if I want to watch something.

Since I don’t really watch anything besides sports and game film, I shake my head. “We can watch something if you want, though.”

“C’mere.” He reaches out, and I put my hand in his so he can tug me onto my bed with him. Onto the fresh, cozy blankets that smell like fabric softener. He tries to cuddle, but I pull away and scoot toward the foot of the bed. If I don’t do this now, I never will.

Drawing an invisible line across the mattress, I stick to my side and kick off my apology parade.Sorry for disappearing. Sorry for worrying you. Sorry for being so fucking pathetic.

“Stop.” He leans forward, finds my hands and holds them in my lap. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay, and that you’re not mad at me.”

My voice cracks. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Pouting like he does, Tommy mumbles, “What I did in Davis.”

“What?” Oh. The kiss. I completely forgot about that. Nothing like a whirlwind of post-traumatic stress to make me remember which problems are actually worth giving a shit about. “Tommy, that’s nothing. I don’t care about that. I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“It’s okay if you are. I fucked up.”

Squeezing his hands in mine, I cry, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not mad at you. I’m just a broken person, and I try really hard to hide that from you so I won’t scare you away. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

Humiliated by my quivering, whimpering voice, I drop my chin to my chest and silently curse myself for being such a fucking loser. My chest hurts as if Tommy has already given up on me, and my mind is already preparing myself for the inevitability that I’m going to lose him.

Warm hands stroke the length of my outer thighs as Tommy’s voice tells me, “You’re not broken.”

“Tommy.” I lift my chin to show him the mess I am as tears streak down my face. “Look at me.”

His hands jump from my legs to my jaw, swiping away those tears with his thumbs. “I am looking at you. I see you, and I don’t see a broken person. I see someone who’s upset and hurt, and I see the boy I fell in love with. If you trust me, you’ll know I’m being honest with you.”

“I do trust you. It’s just hard. This whole thing is hard. I wanna be good for you. I wanna be a good boyfriend. I wanna take care of you. I wanna deserve you—”

“Row, what did your mom say to you?”

My heart stops, and my tears dry when I forget to blink. “What?”